During the hour it took for the servants to prepare their carriage, Inna eyed the storm from one of the Tower's many balconies. Arran stood at her side, silent, his hands clenched around the iron railing. He had sent a servant to search for his father earlier, but Farooq had gone out into the city, and with him, Arran's only chance to say goodbye. They couldn't afford to wait for his return. Inna felt Arran's hurt as if it were part of herself; it reminded her of her mother, bedridden and her skin transparent as a ghost's in those final days.
She laid a hand on his, even if it was just to distract herself from the threat on the horizon. He looked up, his eyes clouded with emotion. "Together," she said. She poured every glimmer of hope, every bit of determination and willpower into that one word.
To her surprise, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her closer, until his warmth enveloped her. Any protest died in her throat as she returned the embrace. He smelled like the bars of jasmine soap in the guest chambers' bathrooms.
"Thank you for everything you've done for me," he whispered against her hair.
She smiled. "Thank you for adding some adventure to my boring life."
Laughter rumbled in his chest. "By now you must know that a moment spent with me will never be a dull one, princess."
She opened her mouth to answer, still caught in his arms, when someone cleared their throat. Inna and Arran scurried away from each other, faces flushed. Perfectly normal behavior for so-called siblings, of course.
Inna was the first to regain her composure. She regarded the servant in the doorway with questioningly raised eyebrows. "Yes?"
"Your carriage is ready, Your Majesties," the servant announced with a slight bow. Inna recognized her as the girl who had been gossiping about Arran in Rabyatt's bedroom. "Hashim is waiting for you downstairs."
"Thank you," Inna replied. "We'll be down in a minute."
The girl bowed once more and slipped back inside, as soundlessly as she had come. Inna cast a sideways glance at Arran. "Are you ready to go?"
He gave her a weak smile. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Each time her foot landed on a lower step of the stairs, Inna felt as if she was descending into a dark crater, apprehensive about what lay waiting for them at the bottom. Thunder crashed in the distance, reverberated within her bones. She squared her shoulders and steeled herself. As soon as we're out of the city gates, we'll take the carpet and fly far away from here, where our enemies can't follow.
Hashim greeted them with his usual stiff nod in the courtyard, his head inclined at just the right angle not to offend the royalty. The carriage driver, a dark-haired man barely of Arran's age, flashed a sunny smile to compensate for the butler's sullenness, and the corners of Inna's mouth turned up in response. Her eyes flicked to the carriage's roof, where the flying carpet rested rolled up on top of their scarce amount of luggage.
She turned to the butler. "Take down the carpet. I shall keep it with me; I don't want the desert sand to settle beneath the fibers and damage the patterns." With the intensity of her gaze, she dared Hashim to scowl at her for holding him up even longer. Zazi's head peeked from the shawl draped loosely around Inna's neck to contribute with her own share of intimidating stares.
Of course, he executed her order without complaining. However, she caught a fleeting glimpse of appraisal on his face, and she saw what he must be seeing: an old, worn carpet, its colors so faded it hardly seemed worth the effort to protect the thing from the elements. With a grunt, Hashim placed the carpet in a corner of the carriage's cabin, holding open the door for Arran and her when he was done.
The benches weren't as comfortable as the ones in the carriage that Arran's djinn had built for them, but they would do. As soon as they were both seated, the door clicked shut and the carriage started rolling through the courtyard, heading for the palace gates. Not long after they had passed through them, the driver tapped his fingers against the small window that separated him from the passengers. Arran twisted his upper body to open it.
"I'm afraid we'll have to take a detour via the northern city gates, Your Majesties," the driver said, pointing at the thunderclouds in the distance. "It's too dangerous to venture into the storm."
"Of course," Inna answered. "We were already counting on that."
The man nodded, a genial smile on his lips. "By the way, I'm Chirtan, in case you need me."
His knuckles drummed on the window frame before he turned around, and Arran shut the window again. When he turned back around, concern etched deep lines on his features. "So, how long are we supposed to keep up this charade?"
"At least until we're well out of sight of the guards stationed at the city gates." She bit her lip. "It's foolish to hope they won't find us before that."
"Your optimism is reassuring as always, Serafina."
She glared, but her mind was too preoccupied with worrying over the next few hours to retort. The carriage circled the oasis at a snail's pace, hindered by citizens enjoying the last few minutes of hallup before resuming their work. A lonely falcon skimmed the lake's surface for its next meal. Its cry of victory when it caught a fat, wriggling fish sounded hollow in Inna's ears, an omen of bad luck in its similarity to her own situation. She shuddered and averted her gaze to retreat deep, deep into her magic reserves until her blood sang with energy.
Several carriages had already lined up in front of the northern city gates, most of them transporting trade goods, but the guards waved them over as soon as they spotted the Chirtan's uniform and the royal emblem embroidered on its top piece. They passed through the gates without having to register first, or even stop for the guards to check who was traveling.
From the moment the wheels hobbled across the first grains of desert sand, the air crackled with latent electricity and a howling wind shook the carriage's cabin. The camel out front snorted once, yet continued its way, unbothered by the elements. Chirtan pulled his hood over his head to shield his eyes. The magical wards surrounding Rasir's oasis had kept the storm largely at bay, but now they were fully exposed to its violence, growing in strength by the minute.
Still, they rode on for half an hour longer. A barrier of swirling sand had swallowed them whole and hid them from the attentive eyes of the guards patrolling the walls. Inna had no idea how Chirtan still knew where he was going. Not that it mattered.
She nodded at Arran. "It's time." Without waiting for a response, she closed her eyes and concentrated.
Barely a second later, the carriage jerked sideways as one wheel cracked and gave. Zazi woke from her nap and hissed. Inna soothed her with long, steady strokes on her scaled head. Chirtan swore, loud enough for Inna and Arran to hear him inside the cabin. He pulled the reins and hopped off the driver's seat to check the damage.
Arran opened the door to step outside, but was almost blown back inside by the wind. He coughed as a wave of sand hit him in the face. Covering her mouth and nose with her shawl, Inna ushered him out of the carriage and followed.
Arran's face had turned red with the effort to hold back another coughing fit. "What's going on?" he croaked.
Chirtan crouched in front of the broken wheel, his shoulders slumped. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesties. It seems like we won't be going anywhere for a while. I do not know what caused it, or I would have—"
Inna held up a hand to silence him. "There is nothing we can do about that now. Better to wait out this storm first and think of a solution afterwards."
His chin dipped. Grabbing Arran's extended hand, he muttered a quick "thank you" and hauled himself up to his feet. Then he froze, his eyes wide as they fixed on something behind Inna's back.
She whirled around, expecting the worst. Four people in dark cloaks, which slapped around their legs, stood a good thirty paces away, serene like statues in the middle of a sandstorm. One of them cupped their hands, lightning sparking across their fingers and palms. Her heart hammered in her chest. She sensed Arran's warmth at her back, pressing close, and they shared an uncertain breath.
I told you there's no escaping them.
"Who are those?" Chirtan asked in a high-pitched voice. A pained cry followed in his words' wake and Inna whipped her head around, one eye still trained on the cloaked sorcerers, to check on him. He stooped, head bent low, panting heavily. His knuckles were bone white.
Arran took a cautious step closer to him. The wind yanked at his hair when he reached out a hand to lay on the other man's shoulder. "Hey, is everything all ri—"
Chirtan shot up, his face contorted with feral rage, and locked his arms around Arran's neck. Inna momentarily forgot about the silent people behind her and drew electricity from the air. The lightning tickled her skin as she prepared to launch it at Chirtan, but he repositioned his arms and hands until he could snap Arran's neck in a single motion. Inna stopped, panic rising in her throat. Zazi had stiffened around her neck.
Spittle flew from the Chirtan's mouth when he spoke, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, princess." His tone had been stripped from the kindness that had characterized it before.
Slowly, Inna lowered her hand and backed away. She tried not to focus on Arran's bulging eyes, the ragged sound of his breathing. "Leave him alone," she growled.
Chirtan bared his teeth into a snarl. He missed a tooth at the front. "He has to give us the Amulet first."
"Not ... going ... to happen," Arran burst out, struggling against the other man's grip. He stomped hard on Chirtan's foot, making him double over. When the driver's grip loosened, Arran wrenched himself free, spinning on his heel to deliver a nasty blow to the jaw. Chirtan staggered and spat out blood.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Inna redirected the lightning bolt in her hand at the sorcerers. It drove them apart without hitting its target; the impact sent only a pillar of sand into the air. They reacted faster than she'd anticipated: a strong gust of wind pushed her backward. She tumbled into Arran's arms, but switched their positions as electricity sizzled in the air beside her ear, pressing their bodies against the carriage.
The bolt had missed them, yet had not missed its purpose; Chirtan lay sprawled in the sand, his eyes glazed over as they looked up at the sky. Scorch marks crawled across his uniform. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air and Arran gagged. Inna, grateful for the shawl's little protection, turned back to the sorcerers. The whirlwind of sand stung her eyes.
"Is this how you want to play it?" she yelled at them. Magic boiled and churned underneath her skin. Her whole body trembled with the effort of containing it. "Fine, so can I."
Zazi's tongue flicked against her ear. Inna, don't do this.
"Inna ..." Arran's voice was pleading.
"Get the carpet, Arran," she said. "I'll keep them busy."
Before he had the chance to protest any further, she lifted both arms and released her magic. The wind responded, turning in her favor, and it scooped up the sand in two swirling columns. Charged with electricity, the air around her sparked and ignited. She sensed the sorcerers' hesitation, taken aback by her display of power, but the respite didn't last long.
As they readied themselves for a counterattack, Inna basked in the sheer potential of the power that ran through her veins, and released her magic.
The sand columns slammed into her opponents, knocking them off their feet. At the same time, invisible needles pinched Inna's brain, but her mental defenses held. She concentrated. Harder. Although her tutors had never prepared her for this, she trusted her instincts. She dodged. She twirled. She attacked and counterattacked. The amber soulstone burned in her pocket, searing her thigh, and for a moment, she swore the wind had a voice.
Call for the djinn, it whispered. He will transport you away from here, to your destination. You will never make it on the carpet.
"No," she grumbled through gritted teeth. "Not for this. I can handle them myself." However, she had lost her focus and a wave of sand assaulted her face. It crept in her throat, choking her.
They are too strong, and you are too inexperienced. Don't let your pride dictate your actions. Call the djinn.
The wind had finally forced her down on her knees. She coughed, her eyes blurred with tears, while the strength of her magic dissipated. Zazi nudged her with her nose in a silent plea to stand back up. The curtain of sand split in two and revealed one of the sorcerers strolling toward her with the confidence of a victor. Her head swam, her muscles ached.
A hand gripped her upper arm and she turned to fight off the attacker, but no one was there. Arran's voice breathed in her ear, "Come, I have the carpet."
She let him pull her to her feet. His hand curled around her own and guided her through the sandstorm, away from the sorcerers, toward the back of the carriage. She nearly fell over when the ground moved and they took off into the air. Arran caught her. His aura rippled around her own as he did, and his overwhelming relief washed over her until her mental wall slid back in place.
"Easy there," he chuckled. "I had to turn the carpet invisible as well, otherwise they would still be able to—"
His sentence was cut off by another blast of terrible wind, taloned like an eagle whisking them out of the air. Inna screamed and hooked her fingers into Arran's back. They crashed into the desert sand, which broke their fall, and rolled over a few more times. The force of their landing flung Zazi off her neck.
Her rib cage felt crushed like a crumpled ball of parchment. Everything hurt.
Arran groaned. "How could they—"
"Our auras," Inna blurted. "They could still see our auras."
A pair of black leather boots stopped in their field of vision. Craning her neck to look up at the sorcerer, she couldn't discern any facial features in the shadows under their hood. Nothing at all. The pure emptiness of that black hole raised the hair on her arms. Beneath her, Arran tensed.
A low, grinding chuckle rolled out of the cloak. "Well, well, looks like it's raining sorcerers and thieves today. You've stolen something that belongs to us. We want it back."